Darn tootin'

Yeah, that's right. Who just got a new set of tablas in the mail? Myself, thank you very much.  Booyakasha!

My tablas! (not pictured: the all-important Johnson & Johnson regular baby powder)

Seriously, I love these little guys. I have my second lesson (and, naturally, my first with the drums) tomorrow

morning and I am stoked! Here's hoping I can retain my memorized talas...

Dha dhin -  Dha dha tin -  Ta tin -  Da Dha Dhin -  (I believe that's the 'Chachar' taal)

Lots more to come on that later. 

Moving on, I keep promising this mysterious post on the underlying connection between music and the brain - how we hear music, play music, and how the human brain universally evolved into a musical organ (not intended as a pun, for you lovers of E. Power Biggs). And indeed, I am working on that; it has become more of a serious research project, and I have already begun writing it. However, I want to finish re-reading "Musicophilia" by Oliver Sacks before posting things. I skimmed large chunks of it last year, but balancing a full-time office job, a part-time teaching job, and a gigging band complicated things, shall we say.

To tide you over, here's an wacky-sounding unfinished composition I was working on in 2006 before my computer crashed (diagnosis: vile XP). While incomplete, it more or less functions as a song on its own. Enjoy!

A Spider on the Wall.mp3 ©Copyright Alex Legge 2009

Korean Court Music: John Levy's Recording

Introduction

The New Orleans public library system is quite accommodating, and between the various branches seems to have an extraordinary selection of resources. That being said, our nearest branch is relatively small and - frankly - nothing to write home about. The audio selection there is barely larger than the number of loose CDs floating around our car. Therefore, I was surprised to find a field recording of Korean court music (performed by the Orchestra of the Korean National Music Institute in Seoul, recorded by British ethnomusicologist John Levy). Somewhat frustratingly, there is no information on when the recording actually took place; according to the University of Edinburgh's website, all of Levy's recordings were made between 1958 and 1972.  In any case, the disc features a genre of music that has been relatively well preserved since its conception. 

Background

The liner notes - brief  analyses of each piece written by Levy - mention three different varieties of Confucian court music heard: A'ak, Dangak, and Hyangak. As with any music in East Asia, however, it would be misleading not to mention the influences of surrounding countries. The music shares some qualities with the Japanese gagaku (at least one subgenre of which came from Korea's ancient Goguryeo kingdom) and Chinese yayue. Specifically, China had a direct hand in the birth of A'ak. Robert Provine explains, "In 1114 and 1116, [Chinese] Emperor Huizong sent enormous gifts of musical instruments, dance paraphernalia, ritual implements, and musical documents to King Yejong (ruled 1105-1122) of Koryo (918-1392) [Korean kingdom]." He then discusses uses and integration of China's musical gifts in Korean court rituals: "These sacrificial rites were of a strongly Confucian nature and based on Chinese models; it appears that Korea was attempting to improve her culture by emulating practices of the mother lode of culture. This particular case initiated the Korean aak, ritual court music, tradition which is still alive today" (3).

Indeed, it was the cultural exchange with China that directly resulted in the first incarnation of A'ak. But it was not until centuries later (during the lengthy reign of King Sejong), in an effort to help fend off Buddhism (or at least maintain elements of Confucian identity), that the genre was basically reinvented and peaked in its popularity. According to Hwang (translated by Killick):

"In that period, numerous scholars strove to revive the ceremonial music of China's ancient Chou dynasty, and eventually a new aak was created and performed as a successor to the ancient Chinese tradition. It was a great and laborious work, since no contemporary model was available and many Chinese literary sources had to be consulted. Almost 600 years later, this revived version of ancient Chinese ritual music is still performed unchanged...In the traditional music performed today in China, there is nothing resembling Korean court music...[A'ak] was at one and the same time the most Chinese and the most un-Chinese of musics." (4)

Ultimately, this presents us with somewhat of a paradox. Here was (and still is) a music that is completely based on upon ancient Chinese musical traditions yet is performed exclusively in Korea and considered to be uniquely "Korean." Can we therefore comfortably assign it to a particular nation or culture? While fascinating, perhaps this is the wrong question to ask. As I discussed in my earlier post on the Buena Vista Social Club, classification of "authentic" culture is nearly impossible due to the impacts of cross-cultural influences. It is important to study any tradition under the light of all its influences. In this case, we simply have a hybrid of music that - while considered as a uniquely Korean creation - is unmistakably related to music from all over East Asia, especially China.

 a Korean court ensemble (photo courtesy of Dr. Robert Garfias)

The Recording

The first two tracks are excruciatingly similar, both examples of A'ak. Each consists of a 32-note melody divided into eight groups of four. Levy explains in the liner notes that they are actually based on old Chinese hymns, with each note of the melody corresponding to what used to be a sung syllable. The orchestra director begins each piece by playing his pak (a kind of clapper). After a brief percussive introduction, the melody begins, played by all the available melody instruments: pyeonjong (sixteen bronze bells), pyeongyeong (sixteen stone chimes or slabs, pictured below on the right courtesy of Wikipedia), hun (ocarina), chi (cross flute), chok (notched flute), and yak (another notched flute). The second piece also includes two zithers (the komungo and the kayagum), although they are very difficult to make out underneath the chimes and bells. 

 In general, the aesthetic quality of these pieces is astonishing. Hwang describes A'ak as "true to the musical aesthetics of Confucianism...subdued, slow, and simple in form" (4). That is undoubtedly the case here. Tempos are excruciatingly slow, with approximately four seconds between each note change. According to the liner notes, "the bare melody, played on the bronze bells and stone chimes, may be compared to the basic ingredients of a cooked dish, and the ornamentation provided by the wind instruments to the seasoning." This description - apparently given to Levy by the director of the ensemble - is particularly interesting because (to my ear) the wind instruments sound far more prominent than the percussion. While the timbre of the bells and chimes allows them to ring for only a limited time, the wind instruments can hang on each note, shifting pitches. Of course, the pitches are somewhat ambiguous in general, as the wind instruments glide between pitches constantly and are seemingly quarter-tones apart.

 I roughly transcribed the melody of the second piece on the disc, "Song-An Chi Ak" or "First Wine Offering." Take a look at this transcription (Fig. 1). For the most part, the piece is played in something resembling a "major" pentatonic scale, with a Western F acting as a kind-of tonic note. However, since the wind instruments are all slightly out of tune, any "tonic" would be more like an assortment of notes (something like E-half-sharp, F, and F-half sharp). In the

transcription, you will also see that I included parentheses around a few of the notes. These are to denote notes outside the pentatonic scale. However, these may be simply so out of tune that they sound like they are outside of the scale. Since the wind instruments are loudest, they make these notes more ambiguous, whereas I suspect we would hear more clarity with just the bells and chimes.

 Structurally, the barrel drum (the larger jingo on the first piece and the jeolgo on the second) signifies the end of each "measure" or group of four notes. My transcription notes these with Xs. The first piece also includes a Chuk (trough or wooden-box-like-idiophone) which is struck five or six times along with every melody note. At the end of each piece, like the beginning, the director plays his clapper.

Moving onto the third piece of the recording, "Nagyang-Ch'un" or "Springtime in Lo-Yang," we begin to hear Dangak court music. Another import from China, Dangak Confucian musical qualities remain excruciatingly similar to A'ak. Tempos are slow, notes are long, and everything is slightly out of tune (although less so than in the opening pieces). Those heard here are the dangjeok (small flute), piri (cylindrical oboe), haegeum (vertical, two-stringed fiddle), and ajaeng (bowed zither), another barrel drum, and a return of the bells and stone chimes. 

As with the A'ak pieces, the melody is once again based around syllables, played on the bells and chimes with the other instruments providing similar ornamentation, although here they play more notes between the melodic percussion. The barrel drum helps provide structure, this time a bit less predictable than with the A'ak. Levy writes in the liner that the melody is based on China t'zu poetry. "A characteristic of the t'zu form," he continues, "is the irregular metre of the lines. This irregularity can be heard." Hence, this would account for the different feel in the barrel drum.

"Sujech'on," the lengthy fourth track, is an example of Hyangak, considered to be the genre of Korean court music least influenced by China. Minus the bells and chimes and plus a daegeum (long bamboo flute), it has basically the same instrumentation as the Dangak piece. While the tempo and use of the barrel drum are relatively similar to the first few tracks, the melody here is presented relatively differently. For the first time, we hear multiple parts among the melody instruments. Although they do land on many of the same notes, there is often distinct difference between the fluttering flute lines and the blaring oboe. Levy notes that "the oboes lead with the melody and are followed in a sort of cannon by the flute, the fiddle, and the bowed string-zither." He also mentions possible origins: "The melody bears a remarkable resemblance to the elaborate (Chissori) style of Buddhist changing known as Pomp'ae and the rhythm is not similar to any other Korean court music."

Especially among the winds, the dynamics in "Sujech'on" are worth discussing. With extreme care and delicacy, the flautists and oboists slide and glide around their notes beautifully, adding a combination of tremulous vibratos, loud shrieks, and calm whispers. From a listener's perspective, it is undeniably powerful. The fact that this instrumentation is more "in tune" than on earlier tracks makes it even more appropriate for Western ears.

The fifth track actually consists of two short instrumentals (each lasting roughly one minute), both duets of daegeum (the long bamboo flute) and komungo (pictured here courtesy of Wikipedia). Again, we can certainly hear many Confucian aesthetic principles, especially in the use of space between notes and the delicate balance between the two instruments.

In particular, the komungo has a fascinating history, as it may be a distant kin of the ancient Chinese guqin. Legend has it that long ago, a Korean official essentially re-designed an ancient seven-string Chinese zither, presumably the guqin (aka qin). Strange, therefore, is the number of differences between the two. Most significantly, the komungo is plucked using a bamboo stick (suldae), which is held between the player's fingers almost like a paintbrush. On the contrary, the qin is usually played without plectra (unless you include long fingernails). As Hwang points out, "The qin and the [komungo] have little in common either in their structure or playing technique except that both are string instruments played in a horizontal position." What Hwang later concludes, however, has more to do with the conceptualization of the instruments' use: 

"In those days when music was no mere source of pleasure but a governing principle of the country itself, a musical instrument likewise was more than a tool for making sound. The Chinese qin was played not for personal amusment but for the cultivation and edification of the character. This aesthetic concept of the ancient qin has dominated the aesthetics of the Korean ruling class...right down to modern times: all that changed in Korea was that the komungo replaced the qin." (3)

More generally speaking, there are many parallels between various East Asian instruments, and Chinese counterparts are apparent for many of the Korean instruments heard on John Levy's recording alone. Just to name a few, the daegeum is similar to the Chinese dizi, the haegeum is similar to the Chinese er-hu, and the pyeonjong and pyeongyeong are similar to the Chinese bianzhong and bianqing, respectively. Undoubtedly, many of these instruments were simply tweaked according to Korean culture (either immediately or gradually) after being brought directly from Japan. In the case of the bells and chimes, they are almost certainly direct relatives of the Chinese counterparts given in the early 12th century.

The sixth, seventh, and eighth tracks on Levy's recording are all lyrical songs, and according to Levy, "not strictly speaking a part of the Korean Court repertory." Hong Wonki, the equivalent of a Western tenor, sings the sixth and seventh pieces. Especially on the latter, we hear many parallels between his vocal interpretation of melodies and the instrumental melodies on previous tracks; notes are relatively lengthy and Hong's style is laden with masterful vibratos and pitch-bending. Often, his notes sound just a touch out of tune, resulting in a feeling similar to that of the initial A'ak pieces. Trying to hit some notes that are clearly below his range adds to this even more. 

The accompanying ensembles on both tracks sung by Hong consist of komungo, kayagum, piri, daegeum, haegeum, a changgo (an hour-glass-shaped drum widely used in much of Korean music) and a tanso (small notched flute). While both pieces are played and sung in a key/mode that is virtually identical, their tempos are significantly different. This helps underline the subject matter; the (comparatively) awkwardly up-tempo sixth track speaks of emotional confusion and distress after a broken relationship, while the painfully slow seventh track recounts a 17th century attack and siege of a Korean fortress by the Manchu Chinese. During this, the Korean king was actually forced to give up his own sons as hostages. According to Levy's notes, "Two princes were sent to Mukden as hostages. The elder, Prince-Pong-nim, wrote this song on the way."

The eighth track, "Sijo," features a female vocalist, Miss Chi Whacha. The accompanying instrumentation is also more sparse, with just daegeum, tanso, haegeum, and changgo. Pertaining to the genre, Levy points out, "In principle, only a drum and a flute are used in the accompaniment." This makes sense, as the daegeum plays a much bigger role than the other melody instruments - which are used more for ornamentation. Additionally, the singing style includes the oft-ignored female falsetto (called "chirum" in Korean). While this goes unnoticed in much of Western music, here it is very obvious: Miss Chi Whacha is the equivalent of a Western alto, so her jumps to high registers result in total climactic shifts.

The ninth track, according to the liner, is an excerpt of Ch'wit'a, "a processional music...played in the Inner Court." Meant to be marched to, the music is noticeably more fast-paced than any other instrumental music on the recording.

Thought of in a 6/8 time signature at roughly 155 beats per minute, two drums (the low-pitched jwago barrel drum and the changgo) share a simple and consistent rhythmic pattern throughout the excerpt (see Fig. 2). 

Melodic instrumentation here consists of daegeum, piri, haegeum, and dangjeok (another bamboo flute). Like "Sujech'on," the Ch'wit'a excerpt features a more complicated melodic structure. While the instruments share a common melodic contour throughout the piece, their parts are significantly different. A basic melody exists, but each instrument seems to be playing a slight variation of it. For instance, the flautists flutter above the rest of the instruments, adding feathery Sousa-like ornamentation. 

Finally, the last track is simply a recording of both the pyeongyeong and pyeonjong (respectively) percussionists demonstrating each of their sixteen notes. Levy explains in the liner notes:

"As these instruments are seldom heard, I asked the musicians to play them by themselves. The stone chimes are suspended on a wooden frame which stands on wooden geese, the bronze bells on a wooden frame on wooden lions. They progress chromatically from lower right to lower left and then from upper left to upper right, from C to D sharp in the higher octave."

It is a peculiar way to close out the recording, but a helpful learning tool for listeners, providing a better understanding of the range of these important instruments.

Sources

Hwang, Byungki. (20 October 2001). "Korean Music and its Chinese Influences." Address presented at the 2001 Hahn Moo-Sook Colloquium in the Korean Humanities, George Washington University. Translated by Killick, Andrew. Retrieved 21 September 2009, from http://www.gwu.edu/~eall/special/HMS-2001.htm.

Levy, John. Liner notes, Korean Court Music. Lyrichord Discs, 1993.

Provine, Robert C. (20 October 2001). "Music, Measurements, Pitch Survivals, and Bell Shapes in Korea." Address presented at the 2001 Hahn Moo-Sook Colloquium in the Korean Humanities, George Washington University. Retrieved 21 September 2009, from http://www.gwu.edu/~eall/special/HMS-2001.htm.

Wikipedia

As mentioned Friday, I have been working on a larger post regarding music and the brain. This is going to take some more extensive research before posting it here. In part, I've been inspired by a couple of music cognition/neuroscience books: Daniel Levitin's The World in Six Songs (which I am currently finishing up) and Oliver Sacks' Musicophilia. 

These are both excellent sources of information regarding the connection between music and the mind, sharing countless anecdotes and examples of the brain's (and, ultimately, humanity's) dependence on music and vice-versa. However, one thing neither tackles in depth - and what I am curious about - is how this two-sided relationship differs among different cultures. Has the brain evolved different responses to music - and thus, different music preferences and tendencies to create different kinds of music - in different regions around the world? Furthermore, does music fulfill the same instinctive human needs in every culture? And to what extent? Obviously, these are some big questions, some of which are nearly impossible to answer with any clarity. 

What's particularly strange about Levitin's book (despite my extreme fondness for it) is that while he posits a lot of universal ideas about human/brain evolution alongside musical evolution, almost all of his specific examples come from Western music. Obviously, his experiences as an American guitarist and record producer have given him a broader knowledge/understanding of modern American musics, so he's playing to his strengths - not to mention the fact that the book is marketed toward a Western audience. But I find it surprising that he doesn't spend more time focusing on the earliest known origins of music/instruments - possible Neanderthal bone flutes from Germany and Slovenia have been dated back to at least 30,000 years ago (and many sources say longer). Levitin does theorize about the origins of vocal song/music and the possible evolution of non-human sounds (e.g. frog croaks) alongside the evolution of humans. Have we always had 'music,' even just as primitive mimetic noises? I believe what many of us would call 'music' - more organized sounds, although definitions differ (to say the least!) - probably didn't exist until we had reached at least a near-human evolutionary stage. Even so, did music evolve independently in many parts of the world? Or did it 'originate' primarily in one (or just a few) locations and spread?

More or less unrelated, I visited our closest branch of the New Orleans Public Library today and checked out - among other things - a 1970s field recording of Korean court music by ethnomusicology giant John Levy. Some sort of analysis of that should be coming soon - and likely before the brain-related post, considering the magnitude of that one.

Dha Ge Na, Tin Na Ka, Dhin Na, Da Ge Na, Tin Na Ka, Dhin Na, Dha Ge Na, Tin Na Ka, Dhin Na...

Or something like that. I just had my first tabla lesson yesterday. Since my set hasn't arrived yet, we were just going over the basics of North Indian talas - rhythmic cycles that lay the foundation for any North Indian percussion. The repetition above, for instance, is the Keharva tala (printed three times), actually one of the shorter ones. The basis is a 3+3+2 division (Dha Ge Na + Tin Na Ka + Dhin Na) of beats, totalling 8. Other talas have many more; the most I've seen in my one-lesson-of-tabla-experience is Tintal, which has 16 beats. Fortunately for my scrawny brain, Tintal is also the easiest tala to memorize as it is divided into 4 groups of 4, similar to the vast majority of Western pop music.

I have been working on memorizing the common talas and their respective beat emphases. I especially enjoy the Keharva - partially because it's relatively simple to recite in double or triple time over itself (tapping the pattern slowly using hand gestures while reciting it at twice or thrice the tempo). 

In other news, I've been gathering the beginnings of a more extensive post on the relationship between music and the brain, a subject about which I know only a little but am excruciatingly interested. So that should be coming in a few days. In the meantime, here's a little electronic tune to celebrate autumnal beginnings - inspired by Boards of Canada, Rjd2, and majestic midwestern foliage (sob):

Washed Ashore.mp3 ©Copyright Alex Legge 2009

(I strongly recommend turning the bass down)

Rahul Sharma's "Maqam-E-Navaa (Sufyana Musiqi)": Detailed Listening Analysis and Partial Transcription

Introduction

I just ordered a set of tablas from the Ali Akbar College of Music in California. Tomorrow, I will have my first lesson with a tabla instructor and ethnomusicologist here in New Orleans. Partially to celebrate my official entrance into the world of Indian musicanship - and partially

because I want to work on reestablishing any knack for transcription I had when studying Ethnomusicology at Macalester - I have partially transcribed one of the most beautiful pieces in my music library.

Background

The Kashmiri (more precisely, the the North Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir) santoor (pictured below with Rahul Sharma) is a trapezoidal hammer dulcimer with at least 70 strings (although according to the Wikipedia entry, it "can have more strings than the original Persian counterpart," the 72-stringed santur). In Kashmir, the santoor, per Wikipedia, "Sufi mystics used it as an accompaniment to their hymns."

That being said, I tend to associate religious music - and particularly that of Sufism - with a kind of sacred intensity. Ethnomusicologist Theodore Levin explains it much better in The Hundred Thousand Fools of God: Musical Travels in Central Asia, a wonderful ethnography of musical journeys through Central Asia. In one passage, Levin recalls talking to a music student at the Tashkent Conservatory in Uzbekistan: "I asked Munajat how she had learned about Sufism and how she understood the place of music in Sufism...'What we know...is an interpretation. It comes from our own understanding of Sufism. The basic idea, though, is clear: to love God. The performer should perform a song as if relating to God from inside'" (Levin 78).

Until recent generations, the santoor was considered solely as a Kashmiri folk instrument used for religious purposes - not as an elite Indian classical instrument. Enter Rahul Sharma's father, Shivkumar Sharma, the man "responsible for validating the santoor" (Lavezzoli 33). Thanks to his help in establishing the instrument in secular Indian music, the santoor is now a highly-respected part of North Indian (Hindustani) and especially Kashmiri classical repertoire. Its timbre - thanks to the curved shaped mezrab hammers and steel strings - sounds like stardust falling onto a puffy cloud. "In the hands of a master," Pete Lavezzoli writes, "the santoor mimics the drizzle of raindrops, or a gently moving stream, where the water produces a rippling sound. This is especially noticeable when the player bounces the mallets on the strings, creating a provocative purring effect" (32-33). 

Considering his father's revolutionary santoor playing, Rahul Sharma must have been born with the instrument in his genes. More importantly, he was born into a North India that respected santoor-playing as a more highbrow cultural practice. 

Listening Analysis and Partial Transcription

"Maqam-E-Navaa (Sufyana Musiqi)" is the first track on his RealWorld release Music of the Himalayas. Per the RealWorld online catalog, the piece - a live recording - was performed by Sharma accompanied by two percussionists: Pandit Bhawani Shankar on pakhawaj (a two-headed, hour-glass-like drum played tilted on its side, pictured here)

and Ustad Shafat Ahmed Khan on tablas (both drums pictured below, the higher pitched tabla and lower baya). The catalog also mentions that the piece was recorded towards the end of a long stream of concerts - Sharma's Hindustani music was part of a large 'Music of the Himalayas' tour also featuring many groups from Nepal. This recording is from Turin, Italy, September 13, 2000.

Interestingly, the piece is actually based on a traditional Sufi piece for santoor (hence the subtitle of the song) - rather than traditional Indian ragas or more modern classical repertoire.

In any case, here Sharma plays his santoor (which per the RealWorld catalog is one with extra strings, an astounding 89!) in a mode identical to the ecclesiastical Dorian mode (Fig. 1) in D. 

The following is a second-by-second look at the entire piece, using Western notation transcription methods and terminology:

0:00-1:00

With the percussionists tacet, Sharma hovers on the scale between a high C and F, providing tremolos and mallet rolls reminiscent of Lavezzoli's "purring" description. He establishes the root note as D by returning to it frequently and rolling on it longer than the others in the interval. This opening minute is played entirely in a free meter, which enables Sharma to roll as quickly as he likes!

1:00-1:30

Still part of the opening, Sharma continues the tremolos but hints at the main theme of the piece (Fig. 3) in a higher upper octave, playing the first few notes in succession.

1:30-1:45

Sharma continues rolling on the strings surrounding a high D, similar to the first minute of the piece.

1:45-2:00

Still tremolo, Sharma establishes the entire mode, descending down the scale toward the low D - from which the main theme will soon begin. 

2:00-2:13

After holding his tremolo on the lower D, Sharma finally slows his rolling. Still in a free meter, he briefly plays a few notes up and down the scale.

2:13-2:52 

Sharma establishes the rhythmic cycle of the piece (Fig. 2) on the lower D, which I have interpreted in 14 beats with accents on beats 1, 4, 8, and 11. After one cycle on his own, the percussionists finally join. Together, the three musicians play through the rhythmic cycle 10 times. Gradually, the percussionists add more notes between the accented beats. Sharma remains mostly grounded at his low D, although he does throw in some Ds in other octaves. At 2:41 (the 8th time through the rhythmic cycle with the percussionists), he plays the opening notes of the main theme (in rhythm, for the first time), but returns to the low D.

2:52-3:33 

At last, Sharma plays through the main theme of the piece (which lasts 4 rhythmic cycles or measures), shown here in Figure 3. Throughout the piece, he will play it approximately 25 times. Sometimes, he plays slight variations on it. For example, take a look at the eighth note and quarter note on beats 8 and 9 of the second measure. These are more or less interchangeable, as Sharma often switches their order.

Another common variation is the final measure (see Fig. 3.1 for alternate version). Also, take a look at the parentheses surrounding the final quarter note in each measure. These notes are sometimes heard, sometimes not - they often sound like 'ghost' notes, or notes that have been struck very lightly. Remember, though, these 'ghost' notes are different than non-accented notes within the rhythmic cycle.

In this 41-second span, Sharma plays through the main theme twice (beginning at 2:52 and 3:15), playing 2 rhythmic cycles on Ds after each. Also worth noting are the percussion accents: typically, the bass tabla (baya) supports the accents on beats 1 and 4 of each cycle, a trend which continues throughout the rest of the piece. Occasionally, both percussionists add another accent to the cycle - on beat 13.

In general, however, the percussionists are relatively predictable throughout the piece, which is not to diminish the quality of their performances - not to mention their primary role as accompaniment to Sharma. Their accents are spot-on, and their fills - which usually come at the end of a theme and never in the middle of the rhythmic cycle - are extraordinary in both speed and articulation. 

3:33-4:14

With the percussionists maintaining the rhythmic cycle, Sharma introduces the second theme of the piece (Fig. 4). It is a bit lengthier than the first theme. Incidentally, he only plays through the first ending once - during this introduction of the second theme.

4:14-5:00

Sharma returns to the main theme, playing it three times consecutively. During the second time, the tempo of the piece accelerates slightly and Sharma plays sixteenth notes on the first three beats of each measure/cycle - note that this helps accent beat 4 of the cycle. After the third time (still faster, but without the sixteenth notes), he returns to Ds in two octaves for two rhythmic cycles, including a descending modal glissando during the first cycle.

5:00-5:39

Sharma goes back to the second theme, this time playing twice through the rhythmic cycle on a high D instead of going to the first ending. Here, he again plays sixteenth notes on the first three beats of each cycle. After the two cycles, he does return to the top of the second theme, followed by the second ending.

5:39-5:52

Sharma plays through the main theme once.

5:52-6:30

All three musicians begin to accelerate the tempo during this period (recall that they also accelerated slightly around 4:27). Here, Sharma plays four rhythmic cycles alternating Ds in different octaves - he also includes some more descending modal glissandos. At 6:06, he plays through the main theme twice, continuing to accelerate along with the percussionists.

6:30-6:51

At breakneck speed, Sharma plays twice through another variation on the main theme - continuous sixteenth notes! With absolute precision, he maintains the gradual acceleration while managing to keep the melodic contour of the main theme.

6:51-7:08

Pushing the tempo even more, Sharma plays a sixteenth note variation of the second theme  (just like the variation as we heard in the main theme), again omitting the first ending.

7:08-7:40

Still continuing to accelerate, Sharma returns to the sixteenth note variation of the main time, now going through three times consecutively.

7:40-7:54

Seemingly reaching a maximum speed, the tempo levels out, as Sharma continues to play an extremely fast version of the second theme (second ending only).

7:54-7:55

It is difficult to tell what is happening in this subtle split second. For a moment, Khan seems to lose the rhythmic cycle (there is a kind-of hiccup evident in the tabla). Regardless, he manages to get back on the cycle.

7:55-8:28

Just when it seemed like the tempo had plateaued, the music begins to accelerate even more. The build now includes a crescendo. Approaching a ridiculous tempo, Sharma plays through the sixteenth note variation of the main theme - three times through. On the third and final repetition, Sharma repeats the last measure/cycle of the main theme three times, adding to the continued buildup. 

8:28-9:04

With near perfection, the musicians break down the buildup entirely, smoothly transition back into a slower tempo, roughly half as fast as the accelerated tempo (although slightly faster than a return to the original tempo). Sharma plays through the main theme (no sixteenth notes) three times, quieting significantly for the second and third. The percussionists are consistent in matching his dynamic changes - a trend throughout the entire piece.

9:04-9:18

Sharma goes back to the second theme (no first ending), keeping the slower, quieter feel.

9:18-9:38

Building in volume but not speed, Sharma returns to the main theme and plays through twice. Again, he varies it slightly during the second time by adding sixteenth notes to the first three beats. Here, the percussionists join him in the variation, adding rolls whenever Sharma is playing sixteenths.

9:38-10:05

Preparing to end the piece, Sharma plays six rhythmic cycles - three times through the first measure of the main theme and three times through the second measure. At the 13th beat of the sixth cycle, he jumps to a pick-up note and plays a brief outro (Fig. 5 - notice the 'ghost' notes here). The percussionists break from the rhythmic cycle and accent the last seven notes of the outro along with Sharma. By the time the santoor stops ringing, the Turin audience is roaring! 

Sources

Lavezolli, Peter. "The Dawn of Indian Music in the West." Continuum: New York, NY (2002). Pages 32-33.

Levin, Theodore. "The Hundred Thousand Fools of God: Musical Travels in Central Asia." 

Indiana University Press: Bloomington, IN (1996). Pages 78-79.

RealWorld Records Online Catalogue. "Music of the Himalayas." . Updated July 2002. Accessed 16 September 2009.

Wikipedia

In honor of my decision to learn tablas, I was intending on posting an analysis and partial transcription of a beautiful recording of santoor and tabla. Alas, I did the transcription, but the blog will have to wait until tomorrow.

Instead, here's a nifty little electronic piece I wrote about four years ago; not sure why I feel like posting it online now, but I do:

Mystique.mp3 ©Copyright Alex Legge 2009

Above is a cool picture to accompany the piece - courtesy of Abdul Mati Klarwein - also unsure of the impetus for posting this, but whatever.

I just began reading record-producer-turned-neuroscientist Daniel Levitin's The World in Six Songs: How the Musical Brain Created Human Nature. Thus far, it's an interesting read; he theorizes that over the course of human history, six kinds of songs (those of friendship, love, joy, knowledge, religion, and comfort) have shaped the ways in which we live - how we perceive ourselves and others, establish and implement our artistic needs, and ultimately define ourselves as a species.

More to come on that later.

In the meantime, here's another electronic composition for you all to enjoy:

biogenetics and the cold-blooded chimera.mp3 ©Copyright Alex Legge 2009

It is influenced by fast paced and experimental electronica (i.e. Aphex Twin), Radio Lab podcasts, and math rock. (Dedicated to Capturing Virga and Monday night bowling)

Buena Vista Social Club

Introduction/Background

This entry is not going to be an attempt at bashing the authenticity of "Buena Vista Social Club," the landmark record of 1997 that brought Cuban music (back) into American pop culture for the first time since the Cuban Revolution. On the contrary, I simply want to provide a relatively detailed listening analysis of the album, the musical trademarks of Cuban Son music, and the various musicians featured on the recording.  However, I do want to mention a few things before getting going.

The question of authenticity, in my mind, is both one of the most fascinating and meaningless subjects in the world 

of ethnomusicology today. In today's 'flattened' and globalized world (thank you, Thomas Friedman), where do we draw the lines between culture - and especially music - that is indigenous to a particular region of the world, culture that is 'altered'

 to produce a marketable product for consumers in a different locale, and falsified information or complete exoticization of cultural practices? To put it simply (or, as the case may be, not so simply), these 'lines' are excruciatingly vague. Take the recently released album, "Eternal" (which, incidentally, I plan on picking up ASAP and writing about), a collaboration between "traditional" Tuvan throat-singing quartet Huun-Huur-Tu and California-based electronic musician/producer Carmen Rizzo - where and how c

an we place this in the greater scope of world music 'authenticity.' Clearly, it sounds nothing like what you would hear inside a 19th century Tuvan yurt. 

Personally, I believe that modern musical 'authenticity' is irrelevant because the vast majority of musicians in any corner of the modern world have been exposed to a plethora of different genres. Thus, there is some level of crossover influence in any music made today. Of course, many modern musicians still try to incorporate (whether subconsciously or not) all sorts of traditional styles, forms, and elements. I'm sure "Eternal" features throat-singing styles that you would indeed have heard in an old yurt and at a time when virtually no 'outsiders' visited Tuva. The final product may be nothing like what you would have heard, but it certainly incorporates traditional bits and pieces. 

I am interested in blogging about these bits and pieces, but I am also interested in examining music that has been influenced by the modern world. Sometimes, untangling the 'traditional' or 'authentic' elements from a modern recording can be difficult, but ultimately the most interesting task.

A look at "Buena Vista Social Club" inevitably involves similar tasks. In the mid 1990s, American guitarist Ry Cooder - who has made a career in re-interpreting a variety of 'roots' musics - aimed to bring Cuban Son music to America by recording an album inspired by (and along with some musicians from) Havana's Buena Vista Social Club, a membership-based dance and music club that peaked before the Cuban Revolution. The club 'closed' during the revolution; per the wiki-entry, "Shortly after the Cuban Revolution of 1959, new Cuban President Manuel Urrutia Lleo, a devout Christian, began a program of closing or nationalizing all gambling outlets, nightclubs, and other establishments associated with Havana's hedonistic lifestyle...Private festivities were limited to weekend parties and organizers' funds were confiscated. The measures meant the closure of the Buena Vista Social Club. Although the Cuban government continued to support traditional music after the revolution, favor was given to the politically charged nueva trova [genre]." 

Clearly, the 1997 recording of the same name is not the same music one would have heard stumbling into a Buena Vista Social Club event in the mid-1940s. The political landscape - and the availability of Cuban music in America - has changed drastically, and genres such as Son, Salsa, Mambo, and Afro-Cuban jazz have all influenced each other. Ry Cooder - and collaborator/Cuban bandleader Juan de Marcos Gonzalez - wanted to create an album that closely resembles 'traditional' Son and the music of the original Buena Vista Social Club. While that task is virtually impossible now, I applaud their fervent efforts, and my non-educated-in-Cuban-music self wants to believe that they were relatively successful. The late Eugene Godfried, a renowned scholar and Cuban radio journalist who was a firsthand witness of the reshaping of Cuban music during the revolution - wrote a fascinating article on Buena Vista and Cuban Son as part of the Cuban identity. In it, he explains his experiences promoting Nueva Trova at the request of the Cuban Ministry of Culture, his account of musical attitudes changing with the post-revolution generation, and his pride and happiness in modern popularization of Cuban Son - in part a result of the "initiative to mobilize longstanding musicians to participate in the [new] Buena Vista Social Club project." He goes on to express his opinion on the project: "Buena Vista Social Club is a rising star in the broad cultural heavens and is a serious warning to all those who have tried to push this people's manifestation, the Cuban Son, into oblivion. All those musicians, composers, and bands who were either in or on their way to the graveyard in Cuba ought to be brought back to the scene, [as] they have an art to display to younger generations of musicians and music lovers."

British musicologist Richard Middleton takes a more holistic analytical approach in Voicing the Popular: On the Subjects of Popular Music, large chunks of which are available online at Google Books. He describes the recording as follows: 

"...a music originating (in style, in much of the repertoire) from the old Cuba (a lost territory, from before the Revolution); recorded towards the [end] of Castro's reign, under conditions of U.S. blockade (including the baleful glare of a militantly right-wing exile community a few miles across the water in Florida); but recorded through the intervention of celebrated American roots musician and 'animator of world music,' Ry Cooder; and shot to success through the imperial mechanisms of the global system (first world record label, Gra

mmy award, sell-out concerts around the world, Wim Wenders's documentary film, etc.). In a sense the music is pre- and post-Cold War at the same time, but also - stemming from Cuba - comes from its aging heart, marking a place that stands as one of the few remaining 'blots' troubling the otherwise triumphant neoliberal world system. Yet the elderly musicians who were catapulted to fame owed this to the circuits of that very system, and on that level the Buena Vista brand - manifested in nostalgic visual images and musical grooves that circulated, so it seemed at one time, around every bourgeois living-room, every trendy cafe and bar in the world - functioned like any other." (Middleton 245-246)

All that being said, I want to provide an analysis of the music alone, regardless of how much of it is or is not 'traditional' Cuban Son. As a personal aside, this recording is among my favorites. However, this blog is not meant to diminish (or even necessarily promote) any particular approach to creating art. Instead, this is simply an ethnomusicological examination of the soundscapes put forth on the recording. Hence, a track-by-track look:

Chan Chan

'Chan Chan' is, according to the liner notes, played in a slow country style of Son. The music here undoubtedly shows it, with a slow yet danceable groove based on both acoustic and electric guitars, vocals, and light auxiliary percussion (highlighted by Alberto Valdes' maracas). Cooder's electric slide guitars help ornament an acoustic ostinato - played by Cuban guitarist Eliades Ochoa, who also provides the lead vocals. Ochoa manages to throw in some sexy solo riffs, adding extra flavor to the groove. Per the liner notes, the lyrics present a lovers folktale about a Cuban peasant. Also worth noting is that the piece actually speeds up slightly over the course of its four-plus minutes. It's difficult to hear with one listen unless you rewind it at the end.

De Camino a La Vereda

This piece, composed and sung by then-70-year-old Ibrahim Ferrer, is based around another light guitar groove - this time acoustic only - in addition to Cooder playing a subtle pattern on the mbira (a 'thumb piano' made of wood and originating in Africa, pictured here). The maracas alternate between one quarter note and two eighth notes, so the groove is felt as '1 2-and 3 4-and' etc.. The form of the piece is relatively straightforward to follow, with the chorus repeated often by backing singers - translated as 'Listen Friend, don't stray from the path' and, according to the liner notes, including religious overtones - and often including a call-and-response kind of trading with Manuel Mirabal's muted

trumpeting. Between choruses, Ferrer sings many verses/stanzas. There are also two bridge-like stanzas towards the end of the song which include a beautifully harmonized duet between Ferrer's tenor and a baritone. During these, the guitar pattern lightens slightly, with the primary guitar melody cutting out - I'm not exactly sure of the definition of a 'montuno' in Son music, but this guitar pattern (and many patterns throughout this recording) act similarly to syncopated montuno in latin jazz.

El Cuarto de Tula

This is another piece featuring Eliades Ochoa; this time, he sings and plays a much faster chord progression on his acoustic guitar. The opening features a catchy trumpet-and-guitar melody that, in this tune, seems more thematic than any of the lyrics. There are a number of different lyric stanzas - alternating between a larger group of vocalists and vocal soloists - in addition to miniature trumpet solos/fills. There is also a solo played by Barbarito Torres on the laoud, which the liner describes as "a small, twelve string instrument similar to a lute." To the American ear (namely my own), this sounds almost exactly like an acoustic guitar. More generally speaking, the percussion in this tune is much more prominent (perhaps in part because of the increased tempo), including timbales (Cuban single-headed drums with metal frames, similar to but much shallower than tom-toms) played by Julienne Oviedo Sanchez - described in the liner as a "13 year old phenomenon." A brief outro at the end of the piece features a short laoud riff, one line of ensemble a capella, and a long hold by all of the instrumentalists.

Pueblo Nuevo

There is a beautiful picture in the liner notes next to the description of this piece: pianist Ruben Gonzalez sits at his 88-key instrument with a beaming smile, alongside Ibrahim Ferrer playing  a conga. This pretty much sums up the piece, as those two instruments provide the backbone for the en

tire six minutes. More or less, the instrumental piece is a long piano solo - Gonzalez, who recor

ded it at age 77 and at a time when he did not own a piano - spends the opening half 

of the piece brushing over a beautiful progression like a painter. His soloing often departs from the slow tempo and incorporates long, melismatic segments between seventh chords. This is all laid atop a simp

le bass pattern and some subtle percussion, from Ferrer on the conga and Ry Cooder's son, Joachim, on the udu drum (a Nigerian drum made essentially out of a clay jug with a hole, pictured here). About one third into the piece, Ry Cooder and Gonzalez give a brief glimpse

of a danceable, montuno-like motif that is later (at about 4:25) revisited to provide a background for trumpet and bass solos. More generally speaking, the piece is described in the liner notes as being a "danzon," an old kind of Cuban dance and ancestor of the mambo. In the final seconds of the piece, Gonzalez alters his chords for a brief outro, along with a short trumpet melody to add a final touch.

Dos Gardenias

This piece, according to the liner notes, is considered a bolero, which according to the wiki-entry, means "slow-tempo latin music associated with dance and song." The entry goes on to point out that Cuban boleros did not originate from the 3/4 Spanish boleros. This piece certainly is not in 3/4. Instead, it features a slow 4/4 groove sustained by a '1 2-and 3 4' ostinato on the maracas. While Mirabel's muted trumpet plays a significant role throughout (including an impressive solo halfway through) - along with Cooder's electric slide guitar and Gonzalez's piano - the primary instrument in this piece is Ferrer's singing. Here, he serenades to a lover regarding the importance of the two gardenias he is giving to her. At the beginning of the third and final stanza, a short rest among instrumentalists highlights his building emotions a few measures prior to his highest pitch of the performance.

Y Tu Que Has Hecho?

Another bolero, this piece begins with a short guitar duet by Cooder and Compay Segundo, described in the liner notes as an "89 year old giant of Cuban music." As claves and maracas begin to provide a subtle percussive backbone for the guitars, the two guitarists accompany each other on voice as well. Segundo's baritone voice - as the liner also mentions - matches that of the tune's composer (Eusebio Delfin, who died in the 60s). A guitar solo highlights the middle section of the tune, followed by another verse, this time accompanied by muted trumpet towards the end. Finally, the short piece closes with the initial guitar melody revisited. Topping off the last seconds is a gorgeous piano glissando.

Veinte Anos

Yet another slow bolero, this piece is played at a near identical tempo to Pueblo Nuevo. It features four lyrical stanzas sung by Omara Portuondo (the sole female musician on the record) and Segundo. The lyrics lament of a broken relationship from twenty years ago, so the coed duet is quite appropriate. Between each lyric stanza is a brief guitar interlude, again performed by Segundo and Ry Cooder together. The final stanza has a slightly different chord progression, and the last line of the piece - translated as 'heartlessly a part of the soul is torn away' -

is slowly whined as the insruments rest before a brief fermata at the very end. Also worth mentioning here is Joachim Cooder's playing on the dumbek, a hand drum used mostly in Eastern Europe and the Middle East (pictured on the right). Unusually, he plays it on a large handful of the tunes on this recording.

El Carretero

This piece - described in the liner notes as a guajira or "Cuban 'blues'" - features Ochoa once again on the guitar and vocals, along with unusual backing vocals from Ferrer and Juan de Marcos Gonzalez, Cuban bandleader who plays

guiro (pictured here) on the tune. The unusual backing vocals 

include shouts and whistles. Ry Cooder's electric slide guitar adds to the interesting array of sounds. Also unusual about this piece is that it never breaks from an alternating chord progre

ssion; A minor and E major teeter like a see-saw throughout the piece (ultimately in the A minor key). A brief outro does add one more chord, although it almost feels like a chore - making a trip to the grocery store for milk just before closing. 

Candela

Appropriately, this uptempo piece ends in A minor, right where El Carretero left us. It is based around a speedy Cuban Son, which the liner notes point is here combined with tumbao, a common rhythmic pattern (with many variations) combining elements of bass and percussion. Often, as it does here, it accents the upbeat of the second beat and downbeat of the third beat, depending of course on how you want to break down the meter. Ferrer's vocals mostly weave around the fifth of the key (E), which becomes a kind-of theme in the piece, perhaps representing the candela (fire) in the lyrics and rhythm...? The backing vocals underneath Ferrer's Es are also prominent, repeating 'Ay candela' and 'Me quemo ae' (I'm burning!). Halfway through the piece, we hear Mirabel's trumpet behind the backing vocals, briefly adding some spice before holding on an E (Coincidence? I don't think so). The trumpet, which only appears here, makes way for an acoustic guitar solo providing some form to the song.

Amor de Loca Juventud

This slow piece grooves thanks to a slower tempo accompanied by eighth notes (and sometimes sixteenths) on maracas. Ry Cooder plays an acoustic slide guitar alongside Compay Segundo's acoustic, which gives the piece a metallic, plucked - and almost dreamy - quality, especially when both acoustic guitars are soloing together. The piece - the first of three songs apparently influenced by American gospel blues - features a lovely vocal duet by Segundo and Julio Alberto Fernandez (who also plays maracas) accounting a tale of "the insane love of youth."

Orgullecida

This piece is perhaps the most out of place on the entire recording. Another tune influenced by American styles, here it is blatantly obvious; this is the only piece on the recording that swings eighth notes, and Joachim Cooder plays a standard jazz beat on a drum set (yep, hi-hat on 2 and 4). Ry Cooder's jazzy electric slide guitar solo (after the first verse), Mirabel's trumpet solo (closing the piece), and Barbarito Torres' riffing on the laoud make the jazz influence even more obvious, dancing around a blues scale. This isn't to mention Orlando Lopez's walking bass line. Consequently, the only thing that makes this piece Cuban is the nationality of a handful of the musicians - and the fact that the lyrics are indeed in Spanish, another duet. 

Murmullo

The liner notes describe this piece as a "romantic ballad inspired by Hollywood musicals," which seems a little strange to me. I can indeed hear the resemblance, particularly in the long, vibrato notes that Ferrer hits in his lamenting of 'bewitched' lovers. However, I am somewhat perplexed because the piece is so similar in tempo (just a tad slower) and feel to Pueblo Nuevo, the instrumental danzon piece. The main differences are the chord progression and the addition of vocals - which apparently are enough to change the style completely. Like Pueblo Nuevo, Ruben Gonzalez supplies extended piano soloing atop a slow, danceable groove. Also apparent are some second-beat triplets in the maracas and the odd ornamentation from Cooder's electric slides. Vocals in the final third of the piece (another duet, by the way, featuring Ferrer) are exclusively limited to humming, which does give the song a unique quality not found anywhere else on the album.

Buena Vista Social Club

Okay, here's the other instrumental danzon piece (I was asking for it, wasn't I?). According to the liner notes, this is characterized by the rhythm itself - apparently not necessarily the tempo or instrumentation. The chord progression is significantly different than any other piece on the recording, adding more tritones and movement from key to key. Cooder's electric slides offer higher, ghoulish pitches; combined with the watery sound of the udu drum, these give the piece a spooky quality. Again here, the song basically an extended piano solo by Ruben Gonzalez. The near-five-minute solo intensifies significantly in the final minute, including segments in the upmost octave, a booming descension down to the lowest octove, loud chords, and even a brief moment around 4:23 where he shows a hint of a montuno. At the very end of the piece, Gonzalez plays a quick, rhythmic outro along with Lazaro Villa on the guiro. 

La Bayamesa

Musically, this piece is a rather unexpected finale. Not only is it the shortest piece on the record; it is also the only one in 3/4, and the only piece without any percussion (except, of course, piano). Then again, the featured instrument is again the human voice, with Manuel Licea, Segundo, and Ferrer singing what the liner notes describe as "a patriotic hymn to the Republic...[telling] the story of a woman from Baymo, the first town to be liberated in the revolutionary war of 1868, who burns her house rather than let it fall into the hands of the Spanish." 

Perhaps rather appropriately, therefore, the album closes with an ode to the Cuba of old - after the first revolution but before Castro's. Ultimately, this album is all about the preservation of music from that time period. Regardless of how 'authentic' it is, it still manages to groove nicely.

Sources

Cooder, Ry. Liner notes, Buena Vista Social Club. World Circuit, 1997.

Godfried, Eugene. "Buena Vista Social Club: Critics, self-criticism, and the survival of Cuban Son." Euguene Godfried on Buena Vista, http://afrocubaweb.com/eugenegodfried/buenavistacritics.htm, 11 November 2000. Visited 13 September 2009.

Middleton, Richard. Voicing the Popular: On the Subjects of Popular Music. New York: Routledge, 2006. 245-246.

Wikipedia

Incredible. And reminiscent - of course - of Cage's "As SLow aS Possible."

Amphibian.mp3 

©Copyright Alex Legge 2009

(an electronic composition I created with Reason 3.0, influenced by elements of hip-hop, electronica, jazz, and African dzilo/gyil or xylophone; enjoy and distribute to friends!)

Kayhan Kalhor & Mohammad Reza Shajarian - Night Silence Desert

This Iranian recording features Kayhan Kalhor, a Kurdish-Iranian ostad (master) of the kamancheh and setar, and M.R. Shajarian, classical Persian vocalist and expert on both the dotar and ghooshmeh. Generally speaking, the recording is a longer suite based on folk and traditional/classical music of the Khorasan region of Iran and the Persian empire. Some of the music may be based on or at least strongly influenced by traditional Persian radif, described on wikipedia.org as "a collection of many old melodic figures preserved through many generations by oral tradition. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Musical_radif, 11 September 2009) Kalhor's website goes into this more extensively:

"Like other Middle Eastern traditions, Persian classical music is based on the exploration of short modal pieces: in Iran these are known as gushehs and there are 200 or so gushehs in the complete radif. These gushehs are grouped according to mode into twelve modal “systems” called dastgah. A dastgah essentially comprises a progression of modally-related gus

hehs in a manner somewhat similar to the progression of pieces in a Baroque suite. Each gusheh has its own name and its own unique mode (but is related to other gushehs in the same dastgah) as well as characteristic motifs. The number of gushehs in a dastgah varies from as few as five in a relatively short dastgah such as Dashti, to as many as forty-four or more i

n a dastgah such as Mahur. The training of a classical musician essentially involves memorising the complete repertoire of the radif. Only when the entire repertoire has been memorised - gusheh by gusheh, dastgah by dastgah - a process which takes many years, are musicians considered ready to embark on creative digressions, eventually leading to improvisation itself. So the 

radif is not performed as such, but represents the starting point for creative performance and composition." (http://www.kayhankalhor.net, 11 September 2009)

 

While the suite does have a number of distinct movements, the music on this recording is segues throughout, with the strummed/plucked instruments often providing layers underneath other sounds - namely Kalhor's gorgeous kamancheh fiddling and Shajarian's voice.

The opening of the recording 

is simply the plucked 'layers' - the dotar (long-necked, two- string lute pictured on the right) and some setar (long-necked, four-string lute pictured on the left, related to the fi

rst tanburs); incidentally, the fourth string was apparently added sometime in the

18th century) adding additional spice. Later on in the recording, the setar is featured more as a solo instrument, with Kalhor playing a gorgeous instrumental, appropriately titled 

'Setar Instrumental.' Also backing the featured instruments throughout large chunks of the recording are the ghooshmeh (double-reed wind instrument), and some percussionists playing primarily membranophones. In particular, a frame drum with tambourine-like jingles is often used. From listening, this sounds like the doyra/doira, which Wikipedia refers to as the 'Dayereh.' The rhythms, which often feel like slightly-side-stepped 3/4 or 4/4 m

eters, provide fascinating grooves along with the drone strings, a perfect combination under which the soloists can flaunt their expertise. As for the primary instruments - Kalhor's kamancheh (bowed upright spike fiddle, pictured here with Kalhor on the right, which may have three or four strings made of silk or metal depending on when it was made) and Shajarian's voice (somewhere between a western baritone and tenor) - they weave in and out of the recording (both independently and not) like motifs in a symphony. Although they never completely lose sight of the root note (a Western 'A'), they often take long, melismatic tangents, sometimes even exchanging cadenza-like segments with each other, approaching and dancing around higher notes including half-flats (which can be tricky for the Western ear to grasp). While I realize that half-flats are internalized in Middle-Eastern musical cultures, it still amazes me at how adept the voice of an ostad (again, master) such as Shajarian is at nailing them with ultimate precision. In any case, the call-and-response/ exchange between his singing and Kalhor's kamancheh is especially apparent on 'Instrument and Vocal (Saz va Avaz),' the longest movement in the suite.

This being the first official blog post (and since I am rather rusty with ethnomusicological listening-based analyses), I don't want to get to much into my own interpretation and feelings about the recording, but I will certainly say that it is one of my favorites - and from a musical region of the world which I am still relatively unfamiliar with. The 'Setar Instrumental' movement mentioned above is one of the most trance-like, beautiful pieces I have ever heard, and one of the primary reasons why I continue to pop this recording into my stereo regularly. 

Last but certainly not least, I figured it was worth noting M.R. Shajarian's recent political activism pertaining to the Iranian election. This is taken directly from Wikipedia, so I'm not entirely sure of the source's acuracy: 

"After Iranian notorious presidential election on 12 June 2009, the legendary singer sided with the Iranian people. When Iranian unpopular president,Mahmoud Ahmadinejad referred to the protests as "dust and trash", Shajarian participated in a telephone interview with BBC Persian channel and referred to himself and his voice as the voice of dust and trash: "It is the voice of dust and trash and it will always remain the voice of dust and trash." He also asked IRIB (Islamic Republic of Iran Broadcasting) to stop broadcasting his songs. He metioned that his famous song "Iran, Ey Saraye Omid" (Iran, the land of Hope), has no relation with the current situation of his country."

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mohammad_Reza_Shajarian, 11 September 2009)

Finally, I wanted to mention that in general, I am trying to be relatively accurate in citing my own sources, but certainly they are questionable at best (particularly anything taken from Wikipedia). While I look forward to getting better about this in the future, the personal purpose of this kind of blog is more of an attempt and preparing myself for a future in ethno, so even reading wiki-entries on instruments and classical traditions is helpful.